Familiarities with Pirates
by mamazano
Summary: Will Turner has to decide whether he wants to turn pirate...or not. An AU, set after CotBP.
1. Prologue Act I The Guise

Written by: mamazano  
Title: Familiarities with Pirates  
Rating: M  
Characters: Jack, Will, Gibbs, and the crew of the _Black Pearl  
_Disclaimer: Borrowed from Disney, without permission, with all intentions of giving them back…maybe

Summary: Will Turner has to decide whether he wants to turn pirate...or not. An AU, set after CotBP

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**Good Will to All**

Act I – The Guise

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Port Royal – Blacksmith Shop – December 24th – Dusk

The smithy was dark, save for a light in the back room, spilling out of the partially open door. Cautious to step carefully around the pool of light, Jack peered into the room, his lips quirking in silent mirth at what he saw. The sole occupant of the room, of whom mere sight had brightened Jack's mood considerably, was at that very moment struggling to lace up a lady's bodice...on himself. His brow furrowed in concentration, Will fumbled with the lacing, taking a deep breath as he pulled them tight around his chest.

"I don't know why I listen to him, I really don't." Will muttered to himself, adjusting the stays and gasping slightly. "No wonder Elizabeth passed out. Heaven knows why a woman would wear something this ludicrous…"

"To give their man a very pleasant eyeful, before uncovering the package, and the real pleasure, obviously," Jack interrupted. "Isn't that the whole point of pretty gift wrappings, in the first place? To heighten their desirability?" Before Will could reply, Jack stepped behind him. "Here, let me…" He took the laces in both hands and gave them a tug, causing Will to both exhale and curse loudly.

"Tsk, tsk, William, that will never do," Jack scolded, curving his hand on Will's hip to lean and peer around, waggling a finger at Will's nose. "A lady would never refer to her chaperone as a 'bilge-sucking miscreant'."

Will scowled and huffed as Jack went back to tying the lacing. "I thought the whole point of this was to get Elizabeth away from her chaperone."

Jack checked his handiwork appreciatively, and waved a dismissive hand while looking around for the stuffings for the next step of the transformation. "No worries, mate. We'll have her away from the Commodore, and into the garden in no time."

"We?"

Jack squinted at Will, tapping his chin with a beringed finger, obviously pondering something. Will squirmed under Jack's scrutiny, until he burst out in exasperation.

"This is ridiculous. I don't know what ever possessed me to let you talk me into this. Honestly." He began tugging at the laces. "Forget it, Jack. I don't want to go to the stupid ball." He tugged harder, finally turning and demanding Jack unlace him.

Jack, delighting in the curve of Will's arse, just below the corset, ignored the younger man's protests and, after another lingering glance, turned and resumed intently searching the room.

"We shall need a bit of padding or something," Jack mused, rummaging in a chest next to the bed. "The previous owner of the gown was a bit more, shall we say, endowed?" His eyes flicked briefly lower, before catching Will's stare with a grin. "Not dismissing your own obvious endowments," Jack said, with an appreciative leer at Will's lower reaches. "Just not in the proper location, 'tis all." He straightened and fluttered his fingers in Will's direction. "We'll just have to rectify the situation, now won't we?"

Tortuga – December 24th – Dusk

"Giselle, have you seen my new stays?" Hands on hips, Scarlett surveyed the narrow room they shared. "You're not wearing them, are you?"

Her roommate tossed her head. "Why would I be wantin' to wear yer bloomin' stays?"

"Same reason you're always taking my stockings," Scarlett huffed.

Giselle pulled up her skirts in protest. "I ain't wearin' yer stockings or yer stays. See? I don't need to be stealin' yer stuff."

Scarlett sat down on the bed, and sighed. "Now what am I going to do? I was hoping to dress extra special for tonight. Those were my best ones."

"You can borrow mine," Giselle said, softening. "Tell you what, Letty. I'll even loan you my new gown, the blue one Pierre made me. You'll be the prettiest girl in the _Bride_." Excited, she went to the rickety corner wardrobe and opened the doors, only to exclaim in dismay, "My gown! It's missing, too!"

Scarlett hurried to peer inside. "I can't imagine who'd be wanting to steal our stuff."

"Ain't no one been up here," Giselle agreed. "Not since…"

The two women looked at each other and said in unison, "Jack Sparrow!"

Port Royal – Governor's Mansion – December 24th – Dusk

"Do you think he'll come?" Elizabeth peered out her bedroom window towards the town, the lights from the many taverns and shops flickering in the fading light.

Her maid, Estrella, laid out the new gown, which Elizabeth's father had specially purchased for the evening's festivities, on the bed. She smoothed the silken skirts, wondering how long it would take for Elizabeth to tire of this one.

_Spoiled rotten, she is. Girl's never happy with what she has, always wanting more. Practically engaged to the Commodore, and still stringing along that nice blacksmith, Will Turner. Can't rightly blame her, though. Not with them dreamy eyes of his. Girl has her pick of the gents; don't see no reason for her to be taking the best of the tradesmen, too. _

Estrella caught herself. _Now, now… it won't do to be having uncharitable thoughts, 'specially on Christmas Eve._ She silently scolded herself. _Besides, if that nice Mr. Turner were to find his heart has not grown fonder over time, perhaps he might be willing to walk in the garden with another…_

"I cannot say, Miss," Estrella said aloud, "I left instructions, just as you asked." She set about the not-so-minor task of readying the young daughter of Port Royal's Governor for the Christmas Ball. "That funny little Frenchman took the message, and promised to escort Mr. Turner himself."

"I wonder what sort of disguise he'll wear." She sat in the chair in front of the vanity to allow Estrella to arrange her hair.

Estrella hushed her. "Best you act like you don't know a thing, miss. Wouldn't want your father finding out."

"He never liked Will," Elizabeth sighed. "I knew it. I knew he'd find a way to stop us." She fiddled with her skirt and sighed again. "Oh, I do hope he comes. I haven't seen him in ages."

Estrella pinned the last curl in place and stood back to admire her handiwork. "Even if he doesn't, you'll be the prettiest girl at the ball. You'll have a grand time."

"I suppose," Elizabeth said glumly, then brightened at the sight of the gown. "Oh! It's lovely!" Giddily happy once more, she twirled around the room, imagining the festivities that would soon begin.

****

Fort Charles – December 24th – Dusk

Commodore Norrington hated balls. To him, they were nothing but a long night of polite conversation with pompous bores, not to mention the necessity of having to dance, an exercise that he found particularly loathsome. Nothing worse than having some simpering female trample his feet, and make inane conversation, or worse, a group of them, giggling together, like a gaggle of geese.

Unfortunately, the social obligations came with his new promotion, and were not easily shirked. Fortunately, this evening, the ball was being held at the Governor's mansion, which meant that James Norrington would have the privilege of entertaining the only intelligent young lady on the island, Miss Elizabeth Swann.

And hopefully, before the evening was out, she would be his fiancée, once again.

It had not been a good year. First, there was the debacle of the onerous pirate Jack Sparrow escaping from under his very nose, aided and abetted by the upstart blacksmith, Will Turner. Then, there had been his very public rejection by Miss Swann. Further humiliation resulted from his inability to recapture the elusive Sparrow, despite several opportunities.

To make matters worse, with renewed hostilities looming on the horizon from the Spanish Main, there was talk of a general pardon being issued, which amounted to nothing more than legalizing the very crime that Norrington had set out to eradicate. With former pirates being furnished with Letters of Marque, the seas would once again be at their mercy.

Now, with the port city being overrun with these scoundrels and blackhearts, it was even more difficult to maintain the tenuous, civilized state that had barely taken root. Yet, despite all this, the Governor had elected to throw a Christmas Ball, in the hopes of ushering his daughter back into respectable society. In a rare moment of frankness, Governor Swann had confided in the Commodore of his fears for Elizabeth.

"She fancies herself still in love with the boy," Swann had told him one afternoon, over an amiable glass of sherry. "I was hoping that she'd forget all this nonsense about pirates, once we returned to Port Royal."

The two men had been sitting in the governor's office. Having finished their official business, the conversation had turned to matters that were more personal. Norrington had politely inquired about Elizabeth, who had just recently returned from an extended tour of Europe, a discreet effort on the Governor's part to allow both time and distance to ease the scrutiny of their small social circle on the young woman. Not to mention the young man she fancied.

"Perhaps, if you spoke to the boy," Norrington suggested. "Let him know your concerns."

Swann shook his head and sighed. "I have attempted to do so. It appears the boy is just as smitten." He stood and walked to the window, which offered a panoramic view of Fort Charles and the blue Caribbean Sea beyond. "I had great hopes for Elizabeth, that she would marry well."

"If there is nothing else…" Norrington cleared his throat. Putting down his glass, he made to leave, not needing to be reminded, once again, of his own failings.

Lost in his own thoughts, Swann didn't answer. "I had hoped she'd have settled for one of eligible men she met while abroad; any of them would have made a fitting match. Lord Huckleby's lad, for example, a brilliant match that would have been. Or Sotheby's. Or Chatham's. Or…"

Norrington quietly left the office, leaving the Governor to his dreaming, for if James Norrington didn't know anything else, he knew this: Elizabeth Swann would only listen to her heart. And he was determined to find a way to win it.

****

Black Pearl – December 24 – Dusk

"I don't see why you get t' be the Knight." Pintel said scowling.

"T'wasn't me that decided." Ragetti sniffed. "Besides, you've got two roles t' play, you don't hear me complaining none."

"That's because you get to be the Knight in Shining Armor." Pintel's scowl deepened as he scrutinized a mask. "Me? I get stuck being a lousy Dragon."

"Only 'cause yer fierce like one." Ragetti said, trying to console his friend. "It's a fine role."

"Fierce?" Pintel's face brightened and he smiled. "I like that."

Encouraged, Ragetti added, "Besides, ain't no use havin' a Dragon Killer without the Dragon. Could be worse: you could've been picked t' be the Christmas Queen, like Turner."

Pintel winced. "No way you're talkin' me into wearing a dress again."

"Don't know why," Ragetti shrugged. "You always look nice in one."

Pintel's face turned red and he hollered, "I look nice? Why, I oughtta…"

"That'll be enough, gents," the stern voice of Gibbs interrupted.

Pintel pointed in exasperation at Ragetti. "He's the one talking about dresses!"

"I was just tellin' him he looked nice in a dress." Ragetti folded his arms across his chest. "Wouldn't you agree, Mister Gibbs?"

Gibbs frowned. "If my memory serves me, that's one sight I'm not lookin' forward t' seein' again in my lifetime."

"Nor will I be wearin' one either," Pintel said with finality.

Ragetti sniffed. "If t'weren't for them dresses, we would never have 'scaped them guards. T'was only the good will of Mr. Gibbs here, that 'nabled us to talk the Captain into takin' us back." He turned to Gibbs with a smile. "Ain't that right, Mr. Gibbs?"

Gibbs just scowled along with Pintel.

"You remember, don'tcha? 'Bout this time last year it were, I remember, we was in Tortuga, and you… and the mistletoe…"

Something in Gibbs' face told Ragetti he'd better stop while he were ahead. He ducked his head and scuffed his toe across the floor. "Just sayin' that's all."

"Let's just say we won't be sayin' nothin' and leave it at that," Gibbs said firmly. "Now, the Captain wants these costumes over t' the blacksmith shop by nightfall. We best get a move on."

"Aye, sir," the two men said, hurrying to bundle up the odd assortment of clothing.

"And watch that Dragon!" Gibbs hollered, shaking his head afterwards as if even he couldn't believe what he just said.

The long night had just begun.

****

Blacksmith Shop – December 24th – Early Evening

"No, no! The breeches, they must come off!"

Will gave the diminutive Frenchman, who had appeared suddenly in the doorway, an incredulous look. He glanced over at Jack, who was leaning casually against the wall, seemingly more interested in his fingernails than what was taking place.

"Best do as he says," Jack said, with a flutter of hands. "Pierre here, is known for his penchant for stealing breeches."

Pierre huffed. "Only to replace them, with the garment most fine." He gestured towards Will. "But, if I am to dress this young man in the finery you requested, then he must look the part, _oui_?" He opened his satchel and pulled out a cloud of lacy, white cloth. "The breeches, they will not do for the Christmas Queen. _Voila_! I have here what the proper English lady would wear."

Will's eyes widened as they darted between the frilly petticoats and stockings dangling from the Frenchman's hands. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter his dismay, Jack straightened from the wall and provided his contribution as well.

"Garters," he explained, deadpan, holding up two silken bands he'd fished out of his pocket.

Pierre waved Jack's hands away. "You must wait your turn, _mon capitaine_. It will take the patience, and many talents. By the time we are finished, not even his own mother will recognize him."

Will sighed resignedly. How did he ever allow Jack to talk him into this crazy scheme? At first, it had sounded foolproof enough: the crew would dress as Mummers and gain access to the Governor's Mansion, diverting attention long enough, for Will to spend a few moments alone with Elizabeth, as a Christmas gift. In return, Jack and his men would gain a few coins in their pockets, for their own merriments later, in town. But, as per the usual with most of Jack's ideas, this one had taken a life of its own, and had gone from simple, easy to remember, to bordering on ludicrous in its complexity.

Will could only hope that everything would go according to plan. Little did he know what was in store.

****


	2. Prologue Act II The Ruse

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**Good Will to All**

ACT II – The Ruse

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Governor's Mansion – December 24th – Early Evening

The musicians were busy, tuning their instruments in the corner of the larger drawing room when the first guest began to arrive. The house staff hurried to arrange the last of the decorations, the room glittering with candlelight, the wood and silver polished to a lustrous sheen.

Puffed, powdered, and bejeweled, the guests alighted from their carriages, the elite of Port Royal, along with several rich planters from the north. Governor Swann, resplendent in his new wig and frock coat, played gracious host, greeting his guests at the foot of the massive staircase.

James Norrington had been one of the first to arrive, and had promptly retreated to a corner, near the floor length windows that opened to the veranda and gardens. Trying to be unobtrusive, he sipped his glass of wine, as he watched the guests spread into the drawing room.

But, alas, his best-laid plans were to no avail. A booming voice resounded across the crowded room.

"There you are, Commodore!" The portly figure of Lord Etheridge was making his way towards him, his wife and daughters in tow. "We had hoped that Weatherby had invited you!" A maid passed, circulating among the guests bearing a tray of wine glasses, and he plucked one away, nodding towards his family. "May I introduce you to my wife, Lady Etheridge, and our daughters, Beatrice and Prunella."

Lady Etheridge was the complete opposite of her husband, a gaunt woman with a severe, down-turned mouth, on a heavily powdered face. Her daughters were both very pale and dressed in matching pale, blue gowns.

"Oh, Commodore Norrington, we did hope you'd be here!" Lady Etheridge simpered. "My girls were just telling me today, how much they were looking forward to meeting you. We were wondering if you would be attending the ball."

"Pleased to meet you," Norrington murmured, not feeling in the least pleased.

Lady Etheridge nodded, her virtually colorless daughters twittering in response, reminding him of strange cave-dwelling birds. Struggling to make polite conversation, he asked, "Have you been in the colonies long?"

"We've just arrived, from the colonies in America. I must admit, I was nervous at first. I had heard stories, of how life in the islands was quite primitive." Fortified by the Commodore's polite nod, Lady Etheridge continued. "Of course, we have not seen much of the island, since we arrived; the weather is much too hot. I never allow my girls to go out without their parasols. I always remind them, you can always tell a lady by her complexion. Don't you think so, Commodore?"

The cave birds twittered again, batting their eyes and fluttering. Their mother leaned and whispered, conspiratorially. "We just heard the dreadful news about poor Governor Swann's daughter. Taken! By pirates, no less!"

"Yes, she had quite a harrowing adventure, but is now safely returned home." Norrington glanced around the room, noting Elizabeth had not yet made her appearance.

Lady Etheridge seemed determined to pair him off with one of her daughters. Much to his chagrin, she launched into a lengthy discourse, on their various accomplishments. "Prunella is studying art, with the finest masters, while Beatrice is fluent in both French and German. Both of my daughters are excellent musicians, perhaps they will play for us? Pru, would you entertain us on the pianoforte? I am sure Commodore Norrington would love to hear you play. I have heard Miss Swann plays beautifully, but I was just telling Lord Etheridge this morning, that our Pru was every bit as accomplished…"

A movement near the door caught his eye, and breath, as Elizabeth entered on the arm of her father. Being her first public appearance since she'd return from abroad, all eyes turned towards her. A vision of elegance and beauty, she moved with natural grace and confidence, a true swan among the pigeons and cackling hens. Extracting himself politely from the clutches of the Etheridges, Norrington made his way across the room as the musicians struck up their first chords.

"Miss Swann."

"James!" Elizabeth's eyes lit with delight. "How nice to see you!"

He smiled then, a rare treat he allowed himself only on such occasions as this. Gathering his courage, he bowed. "May I have this dance?"

_Perhaps the evening would turn out to be eventful after all._

Blacksmith Shop – December 24th – Evening

"Now, does everyone remember what to do?" Jack asked his assembled crew as they crowded into the dusty smithy. He was dressed as Father Christmas, replete with a loosely fitting, fur-lined, green robe, over his usual attire. On his head sat a holly wreath, its glittering baubles sparkling as they dangled. Jack certainly lent a definite swagger to the beloved persona.

"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs answered, with more confidence than he felt. He took a quick swig, from the leather pouch hanging around his neck. He'd done some daft things in the past, most often associated with Jack. This, by far though, was the oddest.

Gibbs looked around at the men, unrecognizable in their elaborate costumes. Pierre was fussing and fluttering about, adjusting masks, rearranging clothing, until all was to his satisfaction.

Pintel and Ragetti, as Dragon and Dragon Slayer, were rehearsing their lines in the corner, replete with colorful curses, no doubt to add to the Christmas spirit that prevailed among the little group.

Gibbs had to admit, however, at least he weren't the one being asked to wear a dress. Will Turner stood awkwardly as Pierre fussed, fixing his skirts and hair, and adjusting the mask he was to wear. The dark blue dress fit the boy's slim figure perfectly, the strategically placed padding transforming him into a delightful semblance of a fair maiden, the puffy sleeves serving to hide his blacksmith's arms, the long, silken gloves adding to the illusion.

Gibbs was beginning to wish he'd been the one elected for anchor watch, instead of AnaMaria. He fidgeted in his costume, pushing the mask aside to take another fortifying swig from his flask. It was going to be a long night.

****

Governor's Mansion – December 24th – Evening

Elizabeth was enjoying her immensely. She had danced with every eligible man, and some of the married ones, as well. The Commodore managed his share of dances, thus keeping her from having to ward off too many untoward advances, from her increasingly inebriated dance partners. After one particularly drunken young man, the son of a rich plantation owner, had trod repeatedly on her feet, Elizabeth found an excuse to sit out the next dance, retreating to a corner near the windows, and their welcoming breeze.

Tapping her foot, she idly scanned the room, barely suppressing her boredom. After the balls in Europe, the tours of all the great cities – London, Paris, Vienna – Port Royal now seemed confining and quite provincial.

Fanning herself, she perused the room once more, trying to quell her growing disappointment. She had been sure that Will would be there; she had not seen him for over a year, and since her return from England had been trying to find an excuse to visit him. Her father, apparently keen on her forgetting about the young blacksmith, had thwarted her every attempt, thus forcing her to resort to more clandestine methods.

Which did not appear to have worked, either. Her discreet inquiring of the maids had confirmed that Will had not made an appearance, at the back door, or elsewhere. Resigned that she would be seeing in Christmas without him, she returned her attention to the Commodore.

It was amazing how much difference a year could make. When she had left Port Royal bound for England, she had thought herself in love with Will Turner, and James Norrington as just another one of her father's minions; his proposal nothing more than a way to please the Governor, and assure his continued career advancement.

Tonight though, when they had danced, she had found herself looking at James in a different light. Shy, ever proper, he had been the consummate gentleman, and yet…

Elizabeth shook her head impatiently. _And what of Will? Would he understand that she had changed? That she wanted to see more of the world than the narrow confines of Port Royal? And if the Commodore proposed tonight, as her father had been hinting and hoping, what would her answer be?_ Elizabeth really needed to see Will, talk to him, explain things.

A sudden commotion at the front door caught everyone's attention. Norrington and several of the other officers hurried across the room as the newcomers loudly demanded entrance.

"We claim the privilege of Christmas,  
we come to bring you cheer.  
We bring St. George and his merry men,  
to entertain you here."

Elizabeth clapped her hands in delight. Mummers!

****

Governor's Mansion – December 24th – Evening

A motley group stood on the doorstep. In front, stood Old Father Christmas, bearing a holly bough and wassail-bowl. Beside him was a pretty young woman, carrying a branch of mistletoe. Next to her, the Grand Turk, the gallant knight, St. George, and the latter's antagonist, the devouring dragon. A doctor was also present, bearing a large box of pills to cure the wounded. Drummers and other musicians accompanied the procession.

Father Christmas stepped forward, his hands fluttering in an eerily familiar manner.

"Here come I, Old Father Christmas,  
Christmas or not,  
I hope Old Father Christmas  
Will never be forgot.

A mug of your strong ale,  
to make us dance and sing,  
And the money in our pockets  
is a very fine thing!"

He waved his hands, in a shooing motion, at the guests crowding to see the newcomers.

"A room—make room here, gallant gents and, er ladies,  
And give us room to rhyme,  
We're come to shew activity  
Upon a Christmas time."

The robed figure waved his hand again, towards the masked gang on the doorstep.

"Acting youth or acting age,  
The like was never acted on this, er, stage;  
If you don't believe what I now say,  
Enter St George, and clear the way."

The entire assembly pushed forward, past the startled footman, and made their way into the drawing room. A tall, skinny knight stepped forward, brandishing a wooden sword. Placing the other on his breast, he began to recite:

"Here come I, St George, the valiant man,  
With naked sword and spear in hand,  
Who fought the dragon, and brought him to the slaughter,  
And for this won the king of Egypt's daughter.

What man or mortal will dare to stand  
Before me with my sword in hand;  
I'll slay him, and cut him as small as flies,  
And send him to Jamaica to make mince-pies."

He then commenced swinging his sword, the women 'oohing' and 'ahhing' in delight. Another of the players stepped forward, a diminutive man with bare chest and feet.

"Here come I, a Turkish knight,  
In Turkish land I learned to fight,  
I'll fight St George with courage bold,  
And if his blood's hot, will make it cold."

The tall, skinny man replied.

"If thou art a Turkish knight,  
Draw out thy sword, and let us fight."

A battle resulted, with much flailing about, the crowd falling away into a semi-circle to watch. The Turk fell, and St. George, apparently struck with remorse, exclaimed:

"Ladies and gentlemen,  
You've seen what I've done,  
I've cut this Turk down  
Like the evening sun;  
Is there any doctor that can be found,  
To cure this knight of his deadly wound?"

Another man stepped forward, and pulled out a familiar looking flask from round his neck. Stumbling a bit on his lines he finally stammered,

"Oh yes there's a doctor to be found,  
But I takes no less than fifty pound.  
I've a little bottle in my pocket,  
Called hokum, shokum, and, um, alica, alica…"

The 'dead' Turk hissed from the floor, "Alicampane." The 'Doctor' nodded.

"Aye. Alicampane.  
I'll touch his eyes, nose, mouth, and chin,  
And say: "Rise, dead man," and he'll fight again."

He touched the prostrate Turk, who then leapt up, renewed for the battle. St George, however, took this as a favorable opportunity for sounding his own praises:

"Here am I, St George, with shining armour bright,  
I am a famous champion, also a worthy knight;  
Many a giant did I subdue,  
And ran a fiery dragon through.

First, then, I fought in France,  
Second, 1 fought in Spain,  
Thirdly, I came to Tenby,  
To fight the Turk again."

Another fight ensued, and St. George, again the victor, repeated his request for a doctor, who succeeded, as before, in performing a miraculous cure.

Then the dragon changed character, into that of the 'gentleman in black.'

"Here come I, Beelzebub,  
Under my arm I carry a club,  
Under my chin I carry a pan,  
Don't I look a nice young man?"

Having finished his speech, the main object of the visit was delicately hinted by Father Christmas.

"Ladies and gentlemen,  
Our story is ended,  
Our money-box is recommended;  
Five or six shillings will not do us harm,  
Silver, or copper, or gold if you can."

The squat man, dressed as Beelzebub, began to circulate through the room, holding out the wassail-bowl for donations. The crowd was enthusiastic, applauding gleefully, while digging into their pockets and purses for coins.

Governor Swann was particularly pleased. "Excellent! Excellent!" He crowed, clapping and beaming. He turned to the footman who had answered the door and directed him to take the actors to the kitchen for some food and drink.

As the group was leaving the drawing room, the young woman in blue managed to make her way to where Elizabeth was standing near her father. Elizabeth smiled politely, then her smile widened as she recognized the eyes above the veil.

"Will!" she breathed silently.

****


	3. Prologue Act III The Reveal

****

**Good Will to All**

ACT III – The Reveal

****

Governor's Mansion – December 24th – Evening

As they reached the front door, Father Christmas turned to the crowd and bowing, said,

"Our Christmas cheer has just begun,  
We've many to visit before we're done.  
Alas, we must now bid Adieu,  
Good Will we leave with all of you."

Under his breath he said to his troupe, "Time to go, mates. Now."

The Commodore had followed them out into the foyer, his eyes narrowed as he approached them. "Leaving so soon?" He advanced menacingly. "Governor Swann has offered you his hospitality. Surely you would not want to refuse him."

Jack flashes a golden grin. "Sorry, mate. Another time."

The men beat a hasty retreat down the drive, not stopping to catch their breath until they were safely away. Only then did Jack glance around and note that one of the group was missing. "Where's Will?" he demanded, turning on Gibbs.

Gibbs had taken off his mask and was mopping his brow with his neckerchief. "Don't know, Cap'n. Thought he were with you."

"Must 'ave fell behind," Pintel said.

"Aye, you know how difficult 'tis t' run in a skirt" Ragetti agreed.

Pintel rolled his eyes. "Don't start nothin' about them skirts again."

Jack gave them a glare then said to Gibbs, "I'm going back. "

"Jack! It's fool's folly." Gibbs shook his head. "The Commodore's sure to have recognized you."

Jack brushed off his protests impatiently. "Folly or not, I'll not be leaving without Will."

Gibbs sighed. "I've got yer back."

After securing arrangements for the others to meet back at the ship, the two men retraced their steps, peering ahead in the gloom for any sign of Will. As they approached the mansion, Jack motioned for Gibbs to stay put, then crouching, darted from bush to bush until he'd circled around to the gardens behind the house.

He had no doubt where he'd find Will.

****

Governor's Mansion – Gardens – December 24th – Evening

"Will!" Elizabeth hurried down the moonlit path to where the figure in blue stood in the shadows.

Will removed the veil and smiled. "Elizabeth!"

They hesitated then, a year's separation making both of them self-conscious.

"You look beautiful," Will said, stepping closer, taking her hands.

Elizabeth stammered back, "You look, um, lovely yourself." She gave a small smile. "I wondered what you would be wearing but I must admit, I wasn't expecting…"

"A doxy?" Will chuckled ruefully.

She smiled. "Well, yes, I mean no. Anyways, it's so good to see you!"

"Your note said you had something you couldn't wait to tell me." He searched her eyes, his face earnest.

Elizabeth turned away, unsure of how to break the news to him, of her impending engagement to the Commodore. "So much has happened, since we last saw each other," she said, stalling for time. "I don't know where to begin."

"So start by telling me about your trip," Will said, taking her hand and leading her to a bench where they could sit and talk.

"Oh, Will! I saw Paris!" Elizabeth told him, her enthusiasm overcoming her. "And Vienna!" She described her tour of Europe, and the many people she met. Finally, she paused. "And what about you? Have you had a good year?"

"I kept busy." Will looked down at his hands. "If all goes well, I hope to make Journeyman soon, perhaps open my own shop." He took her hand and told her with heartfelt emotion, "I had hoped we might still be wed. I know your father is against it, but once I have my own shop, he might see things differently."

"But that could take _years_," Elizabeth said, her voice less than enthusiastic.

"I know, the thought of waiting any longer is too much to bear for me as well." He didn't seem to notice her change in demeanor, and plunged on, excitedly. "We could be married sooner, if you wish. I could take on extra commissions; there should be plenty, with Spain threatening war, the Navy will certainly be in need of armaments. If all goes well, I might be able to afford us a small cottage, by this time next year."

Elizabeth's reply was interrupted by the scrunch of footsteps on the gravel path, causing them both to jump up in alarm.

"Put your veil on, quickly," Elizabeth whispered. "And be quiet. Let me do the talking."

Will nodded, replacing the veil across his face, stepping back so his face was in the shadows.

"Elizabeth! Your father was worried where you'd gone." Norrington exclaimed. "Thank goodness you are all right."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Elizabeth said with a toss of her head. "My father is always worrying about something, you know that."

Norrington smiled. "It's only because he cares about you." He turned towards Will and asked with a raised brow, "Would you like to introduce me to your _lovely_ friend?"

"This is…er, " Elizabeth paused, then said quickly, "Wilhelmina. She's from Austria." She said sotto, "She doesn't speak much English, and is very shy."

Norrington's eyes narrowed. "Didn't I see her with that Mummer troupe, earlier?"

Will's eyes widened as Elizabeth quickly offered an explanation.

"Yes. She was feeling faint, so I thought a walk in the garden might help. See, she is not used to the heat of the tropics."

Norrington smiled at the woman in blue and said coolly, "Perhaps if she took off her _veil_ she could get some fresh air." Before either of them could react, Norrington took two quick strides and pulled the veil free of Will's face.

"_Mister Turner_. I thought it might be you. Or should I say _Miss_? Fancy meeting you here."

"I was just leaving," Will said curtly, turning to Elizabeth he added, "I am sorry we couldn't talk longer, but I believe I'd best be going."

"Yes, perhaps you ought to go." Elizabeth agreed. "Before my father sees you."

"Miss Swann is correct. It wouldn't do to have the Governor see you dressed that way, now would it?" Norrington said with smirk. "By the way, who were you supposed to be in the little play? A strumpet?"

"Actually," a familiar voice chimed in, "he's supposed to be the Christmas Queen." Father Christmas stepped from behind a bush. "Hence the sprig of mistletoe."

"Jack?" Elizabeth stared incredulously. "Jack Sparrow?"

Jack had been lurking in the bushes long enough to hear the conversation between the young couple. He had hoped the Swann girl would have the decency to break the news to young Turner, the news everybody and their uncle seemed to know…everybody except Will, that is. Apparently, according to the Governor's house staff, Elizabeth Swann was as good as engaged to the Commodore.

The girl had played them both for a fool before, promising marriage to Norrington, only to later reject him for Will. Now it appeared she had changed her mind, yet again. Woman's prerogative and all that, but it didn't sit well with Jack. An accord was an accord, and, once struck, a man didn't renege on a bargain. 'Course Elizabeth wasn't a man, she was, in fact, a woman. And if Jack didn't know anything else about the fairer sex, he did know one thing: they were capricious and fickle, the lot of them.

Well, one thing was for certain: if he were going to get Will away from there, he would need a distraction. Fast.

"According to a custom of Christmas cheer, any two people who meet under a hanging of mistletoe are obliged to kiss." Jack waved his hands as he circled the two young persons. "Well? What are you waiting for?" He paused in front of them, dangling a piece of mistletoe over their heads. "Kiss the girl!"

Will and Elizabeth appeared more embarrassed than enamored. Jack threw up his hands and sighed impatiently. "'Tis easy. All you have to do is this." Before either of them could respond, he gathered Will up in his arms and gave him a resounding kiss.

Will's eyes widened with surprise. "Get off me, Jack!" he said, pushing the pirate away.

Jack flashed a gold and ivory grin, before turning and saying with a bow, "Like I said, 'tis quite simple. Really!" He then did the same to Elizabeth, drawing her close and kissing her thoroughly.

"That will do!" the deep voice of the Commodore sounded behind them. "Unhand her this minute."

Jack gave Norrington a calculating look. Then, in one swift move, he spun Elizabeth around, and pulled his gun from beneath his robe, placing the muzzle to her head as she gasped in surprise. "Commodore Norrington, it's been too long."

"Jack!" Will turned a worried look his way. "What are you doing?"

Jack glanced briefly back at him. "Getting us out of here."

"You can't stop being a pirate for a minute, can you?" Will's tone was bitter.

Jack pointed a finger. "No more than he can stop being a Commodore."

"You won't get away with this, Sparrow."

Norrington took two steps towards Jack, but stopped short as Jack tightened his grip on Elizabeth. "If you wish no harm to come to your _fiancée_," he threatened, "I suggest you step aside and allow us free passage."

"Fiancée?" Will's brow furrowed in surprise.

"That's why I wanted to see you Will," Elizabeth stammered. "I wanted to explain things, before you heard about it from one of the servants."

"And I thought…" Will's face was crest-fallen.

"Why that was clever of you, Elizabeth," Jack said. "Devising an elaborate ruse, just so you could jilt him."

"That's not true!" Elizabeth protested, squirming. "I thought it might be easier, if I could explain things in person."

Jack loosened his grip enough to turn her, in order to look her in the eye. "Easier for whom? You, perhaps? You knew what was to come. Unlike dear William here, who thought your urgent summons might be because you missed him."

She stiffened. "I never meant to hurt him. Things have changed, that's all. I'm sure he'll understand." She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. "Now, let me go!"

Jack chuckled. "Don't believe that would be wise, seeing how the Commodore there is practically wetting himself, in desire to lay his hands on meself."

"That's ridiculous!" Norrington said. "I have no desire to…"

"Pity." Jack interrupted.

"Jack!" Will glared at him. "Let Elizabeth go."

"When we are safely away."

Will crossed his arms. "I'm not going with you, Jack."

"You're not?" Jack and Elizabeth asked in unison.

"Will! If any of the guests see you like that, they'll be mortified!" Elizabeth protested.

"Are you worried about what they will think, or how it will reflect on you?" Will's voice was bitter.

"Listen, luv," Jack said, his mouth next to her ear. "I am sure the Commodore would rather be comforting you than Will there, so I'll just be trading hostages, if you don't mind."

With a sudden thrust, Jack shoved Elizabeth at Norrington and grabbed Will, aiming the gun at his head. "Commodore Norrington! Mister Turner here is a fine, respectable citizen of Port Royal. A citizen you have sworn to protect, even if he decides to dress like a doxy. You've your girl, now. I suggest you allow us to leave, quiet like."

"You won't get away with this, Sparrow." Norrington repeated.

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it Commodore? Now, if you'll excuse me."

And with that Jack faded into the night, towing Will in his wake.

Tortuga – Twelfth Night – Evening

"So, there we was, ready to shove off at a moment's notice, when we see the Cap'n there, running along the beach, still dressed as Father Christmas, hollering at us to launch the boats." Gibbs took a long swallow from his tankard, and ran a hand through his grizzled hair. "And what a sight t'were! Ol' Will, struggling t' keep up in that fancy blue gown, and cursing up a storm."

The two wenches on either side of Gibbs giggled.

Encouraged, Gibbs continued his tale. "You ought t' have heard it! Don't believe Father Christmas has been that sorely abused, since Cromwell's time."

"So how'd ya get away?" Giselle asked, eyes wide.

"What blue gown?" Scarlett asked, eyes narrowed.

Gibbs looked sheepishly at the two women. "Best be askin' Jack that," he mumbled, burying his nose in his tankard.

Jack wisely retreated from the now suspicious women, taking his mug and bottle over to where Will slumped on a bench at the back of the _Bride_. Jack set the bottle on the table with a thump. Will looked up briefly before resuming to stare morosely at a letter lying in front of him.

Jack could just make out the opening lines, in delicate woman's script:

_ Dear William,  
It is with deepest regrets I write to you…_

"Not sure whether to offer my condolences," Jack said, slipping onto the bench beside Will, "or to congratulate you." He took a swig from the bottle, before pouring a liberal amount into the cup, which he pushed towards Will. "Same difference, really."

Will didn't answer, just poked at the letter with one finger.

Jack pushed the cup a bit closer to Will. "You see, William, the way I see it, marriage is like a placing a wager on who will fall out of love first."

Will glared at Jack. "I'm sure, _for you_, that's all it would be. What do you know about love?"

Jack sat up and placed a hand on his breast. "William! You cut me to the quick." He took the rum bottle and held it up to the light and, finding it empty, grabbed the cup of rum in front of Will and downed it. "You are the one that has the mistaken notion about love," he said, pointing a finger at Will.

"And how's that, Jack?" Will reached for his glass, giving it a perplexed frown when he found it empty.

Jack signaled for the serving maid to bring another bottle.

"You, dear William, are the one under the mistaken notion that love is the essence of your life, when it should be on the contrary."

Will just stared at Jack, dumfound. "That doesn't make any sense."

"But it does. Hear me out Will." Smiling charmingly to the serving maid for the quick delivery, Jack grabbed the new bottle and filled their glasses while choosing his words carefully.

"How long have you been pining after that lass, what, ten years? And how much time have you spent with her, eh?" Quirking his eyebrow in question over his drink, Jack gave Will a moment to think it over, but not the opportunity to answer. "That time, I wager, can be measured in hours, am I right? Fleeting moments, eyeing her from a distance, a time or two when she was close enough for you to smell her perfume. Then it all comes to this grand finale, when you think you've won her heart, and what does she do? She takes off for a whole year."

The warning tilt of Will's head made Jack swallow and rethink if it was a good idea to go on. Fortifying himself against a possible blow, he went on. "She goes off for a year, and comes back, as precious as ever, right? And is all set to marry Norrington, while you're being left to play the second fiddle. Now, don't get me wrong. There was no way you could've known all that, I'll give you that. And yet - here we come to the essence of it -"

Will raised a sudden hand to quiet him, Jack recoiling from the expected punch.

"Shut up, Jack."

"Whut?"

"I said, shut up. I know all that, and I can't deny any of it. It's the _reason_, you got wrong."

"And what, pray tell, might that be?"

With a slow, lung-filling sigh, Will gathered his nerve to say aloud the things he'd been dreading to confess, even to himself, over the past six months.

"I know I could never be her match, there's a whole world between us." Looking past Jack, Will's lips turned into a sardonic smile. "Or at least a few continents, as of late. I could never live up to Paris, and she could never live down to soaking her hands in lye."

Will took a long gulp from his glass and slammed it back on the table with a clatter. Jack listened carefully, wisely keeping quiet and refraining from any interjections.

"I'm not sure, if I ever really wanted to get married." Will gave Jack a direct look. "But I couldn't just let go of something I'd been wanting for ten years, and having it there right at my grasp, could I, Jack?"

To that, Jack couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Instead, he changed the subject completely. "There's one thing, I've been meaning to bring up, and this seems like the most opportune moment to do so…"

Searching Will's face solemnly to create a dramatic atmosphere, Jack put his hand on Will's shoulder and leaned forwards a little. "How is it that a fine blacksmith such as yourself, has not made it to Journeyman yet?"

Will opened his mouth in vain a few times, the question catching him completely unawares. "I…uh, Mr. Brown says it's only a matter of another year or so. I wouldn't want to-"

"And how long has the old drunk have been saying that? Two, three years, by now?"

"Four. The first recommendation came when I was sixteen, and obviously not ready yet-"

"Not ready! Not ready? You've been making all the commissions for nearly six years, I hear, all by your lonesome, and you're not ready to be a Journeyman? Will, would you listen to yourself!"

The thought that Will actually believed the drunken sod mad Jack go livid. "I'll indulge you and repeat meself: You, dear William, have been doing all the work, including Mr. Brown's, for the past six years. And you think he won't give you the chance, of putting up your own establishment, because you _don't know_ what you're doing?"

Jack watched as the comprehension alighted on Will's face, and then rapidly turned into flushed mortification. Will sat, mouth agape, unblinking as his thoughts tried to align themselves into anything reasonable. Finally, when they did, Will turned and slowly started listed towards the table.

His forehead met the wood with a loud thunk, followed by the agonized moan of a man who has been played a fool, and played quite well.

With the third moan, after Will drew another breath, Jack lost his patience, and patted Will on the back. "There, there now, lad, it's not that bad."

****

"Not that bad?" The voice was but a mumble, aimed at the floor. Apparently the concept triggered something in Will, since he bolted upright. "Not that bad, Jack?" he snapped, his words clipped. "How can you say that? I can never go back there!"

Jack inclined his head and peered at Will questioningly, challengingly.

"Is it really such a bad thing? What would you be going back for? You waiting for an invitation to the big wedding?"

Will pulled a face of utter distaste. "Ha-ha. Very funny Jack. While you're having this fantastic moment of insight about everything in my life, I suppose you also know what I'm going to do next? Start begging on the street corner? Or better yet, maybe I should ask for that dress back, there must be a need for male hussies in this bloody town."

Jack didn't seem the least bit put off by Will's outburst; rather it seemed more like he was glad to see it. "Actually, I was going to suggest, you'd consider joining me crew, become a pirate."

Jack's cheerful tone led Will to suspect his mental state. The thought was but momentary, as he realized trying to find reason in Jack was probably a losing battle.

"You mean a privateer. There's a difference between a pirate and a privateer."

"Oh, yes." A cunning narrowing of the eyes passed over Jack, so brief, it led Will to doubt that it had ever existed.

"A big difference at that, about a rope's length." Jack took a sip of his rum in consideration. "Doesn't do much for you squaring with your pirate blood, though."

Jack fell silent, swirling his drink and frowning at it, to the point Will began to think he'd missed something in the conversation. Hel didn't get a word out of his mouth, before Jack spoke.

"Although, it's a shame. After that particular piece of paper has been signed, we'll be losing all the shiny things, in the ways of the English vessels. But, we must think of the bright side." Looking up, Jack flashed a familiar grin and downed his drink, as if to close a deal. "We'll be hell of a lot safer, now that we don't have t' worry about Norrington breathing down our necks. Otherwise, that man would never give up."

Gesturing Will to fill their cups and clapping a hand over Will's shoulder, Jack leaned back to give Will a proper once-over, and nodded determinately. "So, what say you, Will Turner? Do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders, and stay true, in the face of danger and almost certain death, death being much less likely, nowadays…" Jack spat into his right hand and took his glass in the left. "In other words, do we have an accord?"

Despite it happening all too fast and Jack's flurry of words circling around in Will's mind, the deal was a sound one. What did he have to lose?

Mirroring Jack, Will seized his drink, spat onto his palm and shook Jack's hand firmly. "Agreed."

Jack beamed. "Agreed."

Without another word, the men clinked their glasses together in a toast, then quaffed them in a single toss.

Will gave a healthy grimace and a shudder, mumbling an excuse after. Jack leaned forward conspiratorially, beckoning Will closer. Lowering his voice, raising a secretive finge, Jack shared a piece of information.

"Now, just between you and me, mate -- and don't tell them I said this -- but you'll be one fine addition to that bunch." Jack flicked his eyes towards the next table, where the working girls were surrounded by a crew of miscreants, and looked back to Will, his face honest, shocked even. "I mean, look at them, Will. Does that look like an able-bodied crew, to your eye?"

****


	4. Chapter 1

Familiarities with Pirates - Chapter 1

****

The life of a pirate was not all booty and blood, swash and swag. There were also the endless hours of tedium. Waiting to spy a prize. Waiting out the doldrums. Long days on an empty sea, with little to do and even less to amuse. Some crews found diversions in dice and cards, others in drink. All of which led to boasts and brawls and the inevitable knife fight on a barren beach.

"Why doesn't he do something?" Will asked the _Black Pearl's_ quartermaster, as they witnessed another dispute being settled in the traditional piratical fashion.

Gibbs' face was neutral but his voice betrayed his emotions. "Best not interfere with the likes of them," he said with a sad shake of his grizzled head. "The pirate's way is equal pay and equal say unless engagin' in battle." He gestured towards the two men sweating and grunting, locked in hand-to-hand combat, armed only with their wits and knives.

"But Jack's their Captain." Will glared at Jack lounging in the shade under a clump of palms. "He signed them on, he ought to be able to enforce the rules."

Gibbs ran a weary hand through his hair. The lad meant well, but knew nothing about the ways of these cutthroats. Not that Gibbs wanted to see either McGee or Bartlett kill one another, both were valuable for their sailing skills as well as their swords. Unfortunately, both were also hotheads that held a grudge better than their rum.

"You know the Code's more guidelines than actual rules," Gibbs said. "Most men make their mark knowin' full well they won't be adhering to most of them. It's what drove 'em t' turn pirate in the first place, escapin' them rules."

A loud cheer interrupted him as the burly Bartlett managed to pin his opponent on the sand, knife poised against his throat. The remainder of the crew were laying bets as to whether he'd finish the job, or show pity and let the other live.

Jack, who had showed little interest in the fight up to now, rose and ambled his way over to the circle of men surrounding the combatants. He made his way to the center of the crowd and looked down at his two recalcitrant crewmen. Without turning around, he acknowledged Gibbs who had joined him. "What say you, Mister Gibbs?"

"It 'ppears Bartlett here drew first blood, that makes him the winner," Gibbs said. "So gentleman, I suggest you settle your bets and make your peace."

The two men stood up and shook hands, clapping one another on the backs like the best of friends. The group of men dispersed, leaving Jack, Gibbs and Will behind.

"Is that it?" Will asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"Aye, they made their point," Gibbs explained. "There's no reason for them t' be killin' one another, over mere trifles. He rubbed his chin and added, "More 'n likely, they don't even remember what it were they were fightin' about."

Will shook his head in disbelief. "So why fight at all?"

"To stave off the tedium, mostly." Jack grinned at Will. "I imagine it's all new and exciting to you, being fresh on the crew. Give it a month or two and you'll be placing your bets alongside the rest."

He turned to Gibbs and asked brightly, "How much do I owe you?"

Will's mouth dropped open. "You _bet_ on him?"

"Both of them, actually. After all, I am Captain of this ship, and being Captain, it would not be conducive to me health to be choosing sides in a blood matter such as this."

Jack fished a few coins out of his pocket to settle his debt. "I imagine one of them miscreants will be challenging you next," he added. "No use acting the innocent, Will. You know, well's as me, they've been sizin' you up. Wondering what you're made of."

Will continued to stand there, mouth agape and an incredulous look on his face.

"I'm reckoning by the next time we make land. I suggest you choose the sword; knives can be a tricky thing. Now, we have a tide to catch." Jack turned to join Gibbs and his crew at the boats. "Come along, William. And shut your mouth, you're not a codfish."

****

True to his word, three days hadn't passed before the challenge was made. Will had been sitting near the forecastle splicing the ends of lines, doing his best to fit in as part of the crew. What had seemed a good idea at the time was quickly souring. At first, the crew had been welcoming, having heard how Will had stood down the Commodore and rescued Jack from the gallows.

But, as the weary weeks wore on, with nothing to break the infernal monotony of the sea, the men had become more testy and impatient, the oppressive heat adding to their misery. The surlier the crew became, the more they looked for a target to take their frustrations out on. And who better than Jack's latest recruit, the blacksmith turned "pirate".

"Hey you, blacksmith!"

Will looked up from his task to find McGee standing over him, the hot-headed Irishman from Cork.

"Heard you thought t' marry the Gov'nor's daughter. Like a fine doxy like that would be marryin' a peasant like you."

"What's it to you?" Will glared at McGee.

"Oh, me and the boys were just curious. Weren't we, lads?"

A murmur of agreement went up from the half dozen men who had gathered around, each joining in on the conversation.

"What happen? You sully her honor and then try t' cover it up?"

"I heard she never meant t'marry him t'all, not with the Commodore pressing suit."

"The Gov'nor probably threatened t' cut off his balls if he did."

"Hell, I hear he ain't got no balls."

Will sprang to his feet with a frustrated snarl, reaching for his sword.

A hand on his arm stopped him. "You know the rules, Will. There's t' be no fightin' on the _Pearl_." Gibbs turned to the others. "That goes for the lot of you. Back to your stations, or it'll be the bilge pumps for you."

The men turned and went back to their duties, the momentary diversion over.

"What rules?" Will asked, his disgust evident. "Why bother to even have rules with the likes of them. They are nothing but blaggards and scoundrels."

"Pirates!" Jack said brightly, joining them. His expression sobered. "It's a pirate's life, Will. They didn't join up t' be followin' rules. But they've all signed the articles, same as you."

"And them articles state clearly that every man's quarrels be ended on shore, at sword or pistol." Gibbs added.

Will shook his head. "I have no quarrel with them."

"But they do with you," Jack said. "And it won't be ended until you settle it."

"You are telling me to fight? Why should I have to prove anything to them?"

Jack sighed. "Because they're pirates."

"Cap'n's right, Will." Gibbs nodded towards the crewmen, who were surreptitiously keeping an eye on their conversation. "Everything's an equal share. They just want t' be sure everyone's pullin' their own weight."

"We'll be making port in two days time," Jack said. "I've no doubt McGee will be wanting to finish off what he started today. Best be watchin' your back in the meantime."

Will scowled as Jack ambled off, stopping to converse with AnaMaria on his way to the helm. She nodded and came over to where Will was angrily slicing at the end of a line with his knife.

Squatting down next to him she said in a low voice, "Jack asked me to keep an eye on you."

Between clenched teeth, Will managed an angry snarl, served with a glare underlining his words.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"No, but you could use a friend among the crew."

Will narrowed his eyes, lowering his work on his lap, and gave Ana a good, measuring look.

"There was a time I avoided familiarities with pirates." Getting back to splicing, movements sharp and twitchy, he continued with a cold tone, "I'm beginning to think I was better off like that."

Silence fell between the two, Ana mulling over what she'd just heard, then springing to her feet, drawing her hand back as if for a swipe over Will's head, then landing it slowly on her belt.

Glancing at Will from head to toe along her nose, Ana sniffed indignantly. "And I'm beginning to think McGee has you figured. You do think yer better than the rest of us." Wiping her hands to her breeches as if to cleanse herself of ever touching Will, Ana lifted her chin towards Will. "Fine, Master Turner, suit yerself. But remember, when it's time for you to settle this, no one will come running to your aid, you're on your own."

With that, she turned her back on the young man.

Will watched her stalk away, his blood boiling. He'd settle this all right, once they made port. He'd be quitting the ship altogether.

****

"Think he'll leave?" Gibbs asked Jack later that day. "Seems the lad might not be cut out for the pirate's life."

Jack pondered for a moment before answering. _Had he made a mistake?_ He'd offered Will a chance to break free from his old life, put behind him the humiliation of having to watch his former fiancée marry the Commodore. To Jack, the freedom of the sea seemed just the right thing for Will Turner. Son of Bootstrap, pirate ran in his blood. 'Bout time he squared with it.

But, as the weeks had passed, Jack had not seen a sign of the spirit and passion that he admired in Will. If he were not mistaken, Jack would say Will was pining away for his old life. Perhaps he ought to send him back, if not to Port Royal, then Nassau or Tortuga.

"We'll let young William make that decision," Jack said aloud. He consulted his compass, frowned and quickly snapped it shut once more. "Set a south south-west course Mr. Gibbs."

Gibbs nodded and asked quietly, "Where we heading, Cap'n?"

Jack stared resolutely off at the horizon. "Port Royal."

****


	5. Chapter 2

Familiarities with Pirates - Chapter 2

****

The _Black Pearl_ rounded the point and entered the harbor at Port Royal, brazenly sailing under the guns of Fort Charles, whose looming presence guarded the entrance to the bay. Squinting up at the parapet, Jack smiled as memories crowded back, then frowned as he glanced over at his newest recruit, staring resolutely at the same walls. Was Will Turner remembering that day as well? How he'd stood up to Commodore Norrington, freed Jack Sparrow from the gallows and won fair lady's heart? Whatever he was thinking, Will was not letting on, his face a stone mask.

Jack sighed and turned to Gibbs. "Not exactly sure I trust the Commodore, even with the pardon and Letters of Marque we hold. Best if we anchor further out in the bay and take a boat to shore."

Gibbs nodded. "Aye, Cap'n. No tellin' what sort of mood the Commodore might be in."

"True enough," Jack said. "Best set a double anchor watch, and have the rest of the crew on board by sunrise." He glanced over at Will and added in a low voice, "If I am not back by the morning's tide, weigh anchor and set course for Tortuga. I'll join you there."

"But Cap'n," Gibbs started to protest, only to have his words cut short.

"Not expecting any problems, Mister Gibbs. Just not willing to see the _Pearl_ press-ganged into the Royal Navy."

"Aye, Cap'n." Gibbs began barking commands to the crew as they set about dropping anchor. The _Pearl's_ black hull and sails were a stark contrast to the other ships in the busy port. The presence of the formerly notorious pirate ship would have been dutifully noted by now.

Jack sauntered to where Will was standing, his impassive face at odds with the white-knuckled grip he had on the rail. Whatever emotion the young blacksmith was feeling on his return to Port Royal, relief was not one of them.

"I expect you'll be leaving," Jack said without preamble. "Pity."

Will glanced over at him quickly, then resumed staring at the shore. The stubborn set of his jaw told Jack there would be no arguing the point.

_Worth a try though._

"Have you thought of what you might do once we make port?"

Will shrugged slightly. "Thought I might go back to the smithy, if Brown will have me."

Jack waited for more to be forthcoming, but Will obviously was not in a chatty mood.

"And if not…?"

"What is it to you, Jack?" Will whirled around, sudden animation replacing the stoic silence. "Why do you even care? Have you even once tried to make my life on this ship anything but the hell it's been?"

Jack frowned. "Didn't see where you were treated any different than any other on me crew. And that, dear William, is exactly the way it is. You earn your keep, just as the others." Waving an exasperated hand he added, "You, of anyone should know about hard work and the rewards that follow. Or... not."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jack brushed off the thought with an indifferent wave. "Oh, nothing. I forgot you know _exactly_ where hard work gets you." Jack turned with a whirl of coat tails and headed for the longboat, pausing for a moment at the top of the sea ladder. "Thinkin' old Brown might make you journeyman _this_ time?"

Will didn't answer, just glared as he joined Jack and the others in the longboat, sitting defiantly in the stern, arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

_Fine. If that was how the lad wanted to act, then let him learn his lesson the hard way. _

Jack turned his back on him and positioned himself in the bow. Their approach to the dock across the bay brought back memories… of a sinking boat and a drowning girl. And a young blacksmith, honest and earnest, as full of fire as his forge. Perhaps he was wrong, Jack mulled. Perhaps life at sea was not what Will needed. Perhaps Jack was confusing that need with his own.

Whatever the case, Jack knew one thing. Will needed to make his own choice, free and clear. And all by himself.

****

Commander James Norrington was finishing up some paperwork at his desk when he heard word the _Black Pearl_ had made port. A brazen move on Sparrow's part, which of course made him suspicious of Sparrow's motives. Obviously, he wanted something. Why else would he return to Port Royal?

Norrington hadn't seen or heard of Sparrow's exploits since the night he'd shown up in Port Royal, dressed as Father Christmas. It had been six months now, since the Christmas Ball fiasco at the Governor's mansion. Three months since his marriage to the governor's daughter.

_Elizabeth. _

Norrington smiled as he recalled the event. She had been a beautiful bride, resplendent in white, as innocent as a lamb. Or so he'd thought. She'd showed no virginal bashfulness in their chambers afterwards… unlike himself. Redness crept up his face as he recalled the awkward moment when faced with the lithesome beauty that was his wife, worrying he'd be unable to perform to her expectations. She was so much younger than him, uninhibited, spirited, showing no propriety at all by insisting they consummate their marriage several times in the course of the night. He had struggled to keep up with her enthusiasm, eventually having to bear her disappointment, as he was unable to muster the stamina to match hers. His ears burned as he recalled her dismay at his flaccid member, obviously not familiar with the limitations of the male sex. Four times was quite the feat, and one to be proud of. Five was unfathomable.

"Must have been terribly embarrassing."

Lost in thought, James had not heard the door open. Startled, he looked up at the smirking face of his nemesis, Jack Sparrow, insolently lounging against the door frame.

"Recalling your wedding night, perhaps?" Jack strolled into the room as if he owned it, flopping down in the armchair in front of the desk, draping a casual leg over the arm.

"How'd you…?"

"Lucky guess, I suppose."

"I was _going_ to say, how did you get in here?" Norrington said irritably.

Jack chuckled. "I'm here on official business, Commodore. Come to offer me services to the bonny King." He pulled out a leather wallet and waved it at Norrington before tucking it back inside his coat. "Letters of Marque, duly signed by the King. _And_ Governor Swann." He sat up and leaned forward. "How _is_ your father-in-law these days?"

"He's abroad at the moment."

"Ah. And your bonny lass? Mrs. Commodore?"

"Elizabeth is well, thank you." James stood and asked impatiently, "Why are you really here, Sparrow? I doubt seriously you'd be willing to give up any prize you might win, despite claiming to take them for the King."

"Commodore! You strike me to the quick." Jack placed a hand over his heart, eyes twinkling despite his shocked expression. "I've turned a new leaf, set a new course. All honest and above board these days."

Norrington snorted. "And I suppose I have young Turner to thank for this change of heart?"

Jack waved away the suggestion. "Nonsense. Will Turner has put the merry life of a sailor behind him. Gone back to his previous life." He paused, a devilish look on his face. "Which I believe includes pining away for the lovely Mrs. Commodore."

"Elizabeth and I are happily married."

"Oh, I have no doubts of that. Who else could satisfy her sense of decency and fair play?"

Norrington ignored the barb. "As for his previous life, I am afraid Turner is going to be out of luck there."

"Why's that?" Jack asked, annoyed suddenly. "I would think that drunken lout Brown would be happy to take Will back. Can't imagine business has been booming since he left."

"No, you are correct. It hasn't."

"There you go, then," Jack said brightly. "Will Turner can resume his former life and live happily ever after."

"I'm afraid that will be impossible."

"Why? You think Brown won't take him back?"

Norrington shook his head. "Mister Brown is dead. The smithy burned to the ground three weeks ago, with Brown inside. I'm afraid Turner will have to find somewhere else to go."

****

Will stared in dismay at the burned-out shell of the smithy. The acrid tang of charred wood hung in the air, the building reduced to a pile of ash, the blackened bricks of the forge chimney rising out of the rubble that has once been his home. An empty ache struck the pit of his stomach.

"What happened?" Will choked out the words, halting a man passing by.

The man gave Will a once-over, but not a sign of recognition appeared. "Heard the old man fell on hard times after his apprentice left. Took t' drinking heavier than before, if that's possible. Must have passed out one night without dousing the lamps." The man shrugged and went his way; obviously the fire was old news.

Will sighed. It was all his fault. He should have never left. Numb, he turned blindly and stumbled down the street, not heeding where he was going, just walking, walking, trying to make sense of the growing feeling of emptiness that threatened to overwhelm him.

For all his faults, Brown had been almost a father to Will, taking him in and teaching him the trade. An excellent swordsmith in his own right, Brown had passed on his knowledge, a fair master and fine tutor. As the years progressed, Will had taken on more and more of the responsibilities of the smithy, as his mentor's health had begun to hamper his abilities to wield a hammer. In constant pain, Brown had turned to drink to ease his discomfort, and also to blot out his inability to create his masterpieces any longer.

In retrospect, it seemed that perhaps Brown had clung to Will; not wishing to let go, he had stalled on signing Will's Journeyman papers, clinging to the memories of when he'd been the best swordsmith on the island. Will should have seen this, instead of allowing his pride to cloud his judgment. Brown had needed him, and he'd let him down. And now, he was dead.

A familiar tavern appeared ahead. Will's steps had led him to the _King's Arms_, a favorite of Brown's. Many a night Will had come here to retrieve his master, supporting the smaller man as they stumbled along the cobbled lanes back to the shop. Will hesitated at the door, before pushing his way into the dim interior. Perhaps old Tom at the bar might know more about Mr. Brown's demise. If nothing else, a cool ale might help ease the pain.

"Well, look what the cat's dragged in," a sneering voice interrupted his thoughts.

Will had paused at the entrance, letting his eyes grow accustom to the gloom, not noticing the group of men at table to his left. Turning, he found several crewmen from the _Black Pearl_, including the hothead McGee. Jack's words of warning came back to Will.

"Don't look so high and mighty no more," McGee continued, as he spat on the floor. "Now that he don't have no Captain to coddle him."

"Looks broken hearted, don't he?" another chimed in.

"Probably heard of the Commodore marrying his beloved."

"Maybe the rumors are true, maybe Turner here is a eunuch."

"ENOUGH!!" Will shouted, drawing his sword, all the pain bottled up inside instantly spilling over. He needed to strike out and McGee had just presented the perfect excuse.

McGee pushed back the table and drew his own sword with smug eagerness. The remaining crewmen backed away, giving the two combatants room.

"Lookie here, boys! The eunuch thinks he's got balls!" McGee taunted Will, circling around looking for an advantage.

Will matched the Irishman step for step, his weapon a natural extension of his arm. He waited patiently for the other to make the first move. He didn't have to wait long. McGee rushed in with a hacking thrust, meeting the metal of Will's sword with a resounding clang. The two men continued to circle, both sizing up their opponent with each thrust and parry.

"Not so tough are you?" McGee jeered. "No Captain's coattails to hide behind now, Turner."

"As if I'd need to hide from the likes of you, McGee," Will retorted.

The two men continued to fight, each thrust being met with the ring of metal on metal. The men from the _Pearl_ cheered on McGee, while making wagers amongst themselves.

The fight was a short one. Cockiness made McGee careless and without warning Will's thrust sent his sword skittering across the room as he tripped and fell, landing heavily on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

Will trembled in barely held rage, his sword poised at McGee's throat. The rest of the men fell silent as they waited to see what would happen next.

"I should kill you, just to spare others your mouth," Will spat, teeth clenched in fury.

"Admirable indeed, but unnecessary." Jack's voice filtered through Will's red haze. "McGee here has learned his lesson, and you have made your point." Jack gently persuaded the sword from Will and nudged the other with his toe. "I believe you were just leaving, McGee?"

The Irishman grudgingly rose and retrieved his weapon. He left the bar with a parting glare for Will.

"I could have handled it," Will said, sheathing his sword with a disgusted sigh. "I didn't need you coming to my rescue."

"Who said I was rescuing you?" Jack signaled to the bartender, righting a chair with his foot and sitting down, waving Will to do the same. "You won the fight, fair and square. No need to wear out your welcome in this fine establishment by sullying the floor with all that nasty blood."

"I wouldn't have killed him," Will said, sinking into the chair opposite Jack.

"But you wanted to," Jack pointed out.

"McGee is an ass."

"And a good sailor." Jack took a long swallow from the tankard the barmaid set in front of him, wiping the froth off his mustache with his sleeve. "And, as I find meself short-handed these days, an indispensable one."

"I'm not coming back," Will said.

"Wasn't expectin' you to. Figure you'd be wanting to set up your own shop. Seems there's a glaring shortage of blacksmiths in the town."

"So you heard about Brown." Will drank deeply, draining his mug, already signaling for another at the same time. He desperately needed to blot out the past. The fresh round he downed just as quickly, looking to Jack like he was trying find the future from the bottom of it.

Jack raised an eyebrow over his own drink but held his tongue. The two men drank in stale silence, each lost in their tangled thoughts. After setting down the fourth ale, Will finally, exasperatedly, exhaled what was eating him.

"I can't set up my own shop. I don't have my Journeyman papers." He paused, finding Jack's eyes solemn, waiting for him to continue, and added with resigned despair, "And now with Brown dead, there is no one to sign them."

****


	6. Chapter 3

Written by: mamazano  
Title: Familiarities with Pirates - Chapter 3  
Rating: PG (T)  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.  
Characters: Jack,Will, Elizabeth, Norrington, Gibbs and the crew of the _Black Pearl_

A/N: After familiarizing myself thoroughly with the history of Jamaica, and Port Royal, I promptly threw out all the historical correctness in favor of a melded fictional account more in keeping with the mishmash offered to us in _Curse of the Black Pearl_. As much as it hurts the researcher inside of me, it does serve its purpose for good story telling. After all, this is fiction. Right?

****

Familiarities with Pirates – Chapter 3

****

"You wanted to see me?"

Commodore James Norrington looked up from his paperwork at the young man standing in front of his desk. No longer a lad, Will Turner had matured since he'd last set eyes on him. Harder, more serious. The solemn brown eyes did not waver from his gaze, the defiant set of Turner's jaw spoke louder than any words he might have uttered.

"Ah, Mister Turner," Norrington gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Please, have a seat."

"I'd rather stand, thank you." Will's tone was cold. "Congratulations are in order, I believe."

Norrington smiled slightly. Apparently the young Turner was taking the news of his marriage to the Governor's daughter rather badly. Nonetheless, there was business to discuss. He rose and walked over to the window, hands clasped behind his back as he glanced out at the busy port beyond. Without turning around he approached the subject at hand.

"I hear you've left your berth on the _Black Pearl_."

"How'd you…"

"Let's just say a mutual friend stopped by earlier."

Norrington continued to gaze out the window as he spoke. "I also heard you've been to Brown's Smithy. Terrible business, that. Simply tragic." He turned and added gently, "I am sorry."

"What do you want, Commodore?" Will asked bluntly. "I cannot see where my affairs are of any concern to you."

"But there you are wrong," Norrington said. "When Brown met his untimely end, Port Royal lost its only swordsmith. With the increased hostilities from both Spain and France, the King has commissioned an increased military presence in the area. We are in desperate need of a quality armament shop." He paused and added firmly, "Your skills are required by the King."

"Am I being press-ganged?" Will asked in a hard voice, hand straying to rest on the hilt of his sword.

"No, not at all," Norrington said, his voice reassuring, soothing. "I have been commissioned to set you up with your own shop, and assistants, in return for your services." He walked back to his desk and picked up a packet of papers. "I have your Journeyman's papers here, duly signed and witnessed." He picked up a quill and added with a smile, "All you have to do is sign."

Will stood there, mouth open, then swallowed and said hoarsely, "I think I will have that seat now, Commodore."

****

Jack Sparrow glanced at his cards again. Then at his opponent, a gnarly man with yellow teeth and stained shirt. He tapped his lip with his cards before thoughtfully pushing another coin into the center of the tavern table. "I'll call."

The other man chuckled and met the bet, laying down his cards face up. "Beat that, Sparrow."

Jack grimaced, and glanced once again at his hand before sighing deeply. "You always could tell a bluff, Thornton. Except," he paused, then with a flourish, fanned his cards onto the table, "it weren't a bluff."

"You cheatin' bastard!" Thornton snarled as Jack cheerfully raked the pile of coins into his pouch. "You lyin', cheatin'…"

Jack didn't stick around to hear what else the disgruntled man had to say, downing his drink in one gulp he headed out the door of the tavern, waving a hand in a final salute.

"Ta! Better luck next time!"

Jack didn't linger, making his way swiftly through the cobbled streets towards the waterfront. He'd told Gibbs to wait until sunrise to weigh anchor. By his calculations, that would give him just enough time to see how Turner had faired with the Commodore. He wasn't expecting the man to return to the _Pearl_, but courtesy, and curiosity insisted he at least find out first hand.

There was only one miniscule problem. Jack had no clue where Will Turner was.

"Bugger."

****

The maid lit the lamps in the sitting room and went through the door to light those in the bedroom beyond, the décor in this room being strictly feminine. Her Mistress had insisted on keep her own bed chambers despite her recent marriage to the Commodore. As his duties often kept him away at sea for weeks at a time, it seemed natural that Miss Eliza…_Mrs. Norrington_ would prefer her own intimate chambers to sleep in.

Estrella sighed. She still hadn't gotten used to thinking of her mistress by her married name, she'd simply been Miss Elizabeth for so many years. Her marriage to the Commodore had been both fortuitous and timely, what with rumors of war swirling around the island, the date had been pushed up almost a year. It would have been tragic indeed, if the young woman had become a widow before ever becoming a bride.

Turning down the bed, Estrella reflected on her own position in the household. The Governor had insisted that the young couple moved into the mansion, then promptly went abroad to afford them their privacy. Word was he was expected back by the end of the month, if it were safe to travel at that time. The household staff had been retained, and the mansion itself had undergone extensive renovations to repair damages wrought by the gang of marauding pirates, the same murderous lot who had kidnapped Miss Swann.

Now, with the King's pardon, the threat of pirate attack had been greatly diminished, many of the same were now Privateers for the Crown, bringing prosperity once more to the town of Port Royal. The taverns along the waterfront were doing a brisk trade, as were the whorehouses. Estrella made a point of keeping up with the town gossip, hoping to hear when one ship in particular made port. The _Black Pearl_.

It was no secret that Estrella held a soft spot in her heart for the former blacksmith turned privateer, Will Turner. After it became clear that her mistress would marry the Commodore after all, Estrella had hoped the handsome Mr. Turner might set his sights on one more fitting to his station in life than the Governor's daughter. But, no matter now many times she'd managed to accidentally cross paths with him, Will Turner had shown no interest. He's finally left town altogether, joining the crew of the _Black Pearl_.

And rumor was the _Black Pearl_ had made port that very morning. Estrella's heart beat with excitement as she laid out the bedclothes for Mrs. Norrington. She was hoping to slip away into town later that evening, find out how long the ship would be in port. And more importantly, if one certain blacksmith had returned home.

****

"I'm sorry…_Sir_. The Commodore has left for the evening." The disdain in the uniformed guard's voice was unmistakable, as was the slight sneer on his face. He obviously was one of the many who saw privateers as nothing more than thinly-disguised pirates.

"Right. Well then, perhaps you might direct me to where I might find him." Jack leaned casually against the door frame, and studied his nails nonchalantly, in no apparent hurry to depart.

"I cannot divulge that information," the young guard said, standing even more at attention. "Commodore Norrington does not share his personal business with his men."

"So he is off on personal business, is he not?" Jack straightened and took two steps so that he was almost nose to nose with the young marine. "Would this personal business happen to involve a certain visitor the Commodore entertained earlier this evening?"

The guard took several steps back, away from the door, and tightened his grip on his musket. "He did not say. Only that he'd be back in the morning."

Jack sighed. He'd hoped to catch the Commodore in, find out if Will had accepted his offer. Of course there was always…

"Hey! You!" The alarmed voice of the guard followed him into the Commodore's office. "You don't have permission to go in there!"

"Won't be a moment," Jack said, ruffling through the papers on Norrington's desk. "Ah ha!" He pulled out a packet of papers and scanned them quickly, leafing through to the last page. There, underneath Brown's scrawl, in neat script was written, _William G. Turner, II_. It appeared he had accepted the Commodore's offer and signed his Journeyman papers after all.

Sighing, Jack replaced the documents as he found them and left without another word to the guard. His business was finished here.

But _not_ with Will Turner. He still had a word or two to say about all this. Which still left him with the question of just exactly where Will had gone.

Setting his hat firmly on his head, Jack headed up the street towards town. He would track down Will's whereabouts if it took him all night. There would be no weighing anchor until he did.

****

"Sir! You can't come in here!"

For the second time that night, Jack was being barred entrance to the Commodore's abode. This time, it was a dapper butler, standing firmly at the door to the Governor's mansion. "Commodore Norrington is not home."

"Then I will speak to the lovely Mrs. Commodore," Jack said brightly, wedging his way past the butler and into the entry hall.

"Sir! You cannot…"

"Who is it, Jenkins?" A familiar voice floated down the curving stair.

"_Elizabeth_." Jack breathed the name, then said louder, "If it isn't the lovely Mrs. Commodore herself."

"Jack? Jack Sparrow?" The voice was followed by the woman herself, elegant despite the hastily donned dressing gown she wore. Her eyes sparkled as she approached him, hands held out in greeting. "I never expected to see you again!"

"Like a proverbial bad penny, aye?" Jack grinned and took both her hands, kissing one then the other, lingering slightly as he did. Glancing surreptitiously up at her, he chuckled to see her blush like a maiden. "I see married life suits you well."

"That will be all, Jenkins," Elizabeth dismissed the butler. "Tell Maggie, we will take tea in the drawing room,"

"Yes, m'lady," the butler said, bowing slightly as he left.

Elizabeth drew Jack by the arm towards the room on the left, her excitement bubbling over. "When did you make port? How long will you be in Port Royal? Did Will come with you?"

Jack removed her hand from his sleeve with an exaggerated sigh. "And here I thought you were happy to see me." He wandered around the room, picking up an object here and there as if examining them, all the while watching her from the corner of his eye. "Yes, young Mister Turner has returned as well. And, he has decided to stay this time, I believe."

"Will!" Elizabeth uttered involuntarily, then hastily regained her composure. "It is always nice to hear about old friends. I do hope he is well."

"Oh he's just peachy," Jack said, removing the stopper from a cut glass container on a side table and sniffing the contents. Wrinkling his nose, he replaced the top, opting instead for an open bottle of rum, pouring a liberal splash into a delicate crystal goblet. "In fact, he's been practically pining away for Port Royal." Taking a long swallow, he flopped down in an overstuffed chair and added, "Can't imagine why. Not like there's anything left here for him to return to."

Elizabeth busied herself with pouring the tea, though her cheeks were red. "Yes. It was dreadful about poor Mr. Brown."

Jack sat up and pointed a finger. "That is not what I was referring to, and you know it." He rose and refilled his glass, bringing the bottle back with him to his chair. "How _is_ married life treating you?"

"James and I are happily married," Elizabeth said coolly. "He is a perfect gentleman."

"Those were his words, exactly." Jack winked. "Not such a swordsman in the bedroom, aye?"

"Mister Sparrow!" Elizabeth glared at him. "That is none of your business!"

Jack chuckled. "It could be, if you're thinking of supplementing your appetite elsewhere."

"That will be enough, Sparrow!" The Commodore announced from the doorway.

"James!" Elizabeth rushed over and kissed his cheek. "Look who dropped in."

"And who was just leaving." Norrington held out Jack's hat and said firmly, "Good night, Mister Sparrow."

"Captain," Jack muttered, "Captain Sparrow." He bowed to Elizabeth. "Always a pleasure. And good luck in those matters we spoke of."

"Sparrow…" Norrington's tone was warning.

"Right!" Jack donned his hat and said, "I'll just be getting back to me ship. But first, a word, alone, if you please, Commodore."

Norrington nodded. "This will only take a moment, dear."

Elizabeth smiled. "Goodbye, Jack."

"Lizzie." Jack flashed his golden grin at her and swept out of the room.

Outside the Commodore dropped all pretence of politeness. Taking Jack firmly by the arm he marched him down the drive out of earshot of the house.

"What is the meaning of this, Sparrow? What matters were you discussing with my wife?"

Jack brushed off his sleeve and straightened his coat. "I had thought she might like to know her former fiancé was back in town."

Norrington glared at Jack. "Elizabeth and I are happily married."

Jack chuckled. "You both keep saying that. I dare say that those who protest too much have much to hide. Aye?"

"I suggest you leave at dawn, Sparrow. Before I find reason to detain you indefinitely."

Jack waved off the threat with a laugh. "No worries, Commodore. I was just leaving. But, before I do, I would like to have word with my former crewmember. You wouldn't happen to know where Mr. Turner is staying?"

"Try the _Cooked Goose_. I believe he took a room there." Norrington turned to go with a parting comment. "I suggest you tread carefully, Sparrow."

With that the Commodore turned on his heel and returned up the drive to the house. Jack watched his back thoughtfully for a moment before heading back towards the town. He had a feeling they'd be crossing paths in the near future. The question was, as friend or as foe.

****


	7. Chapter 4

****

Familiarities with Pirates – Chapter 4

****

Will Turner sat, head in hands, on the narrow bed in the shabby room he'd let above the tavern. The noise of the rowdy patrons filtered up through the worn wooden floorboards, along with the high shrieks of laughter from the many whores, actively plying their trade among the eager sailors in port for the night.

It seemed a lifetime ago since he'd been in Port Royal, instead of just months. He felt like a ship adrift in a sea confusion, his anchor lost, his rudder fouled. One year ago life had been simple, had purpose. But that had been before he'd met Jack Sparrow, who had burst into his life and turned everything upside down.

But now, Will had been offered an opportunity to return to safe harbor, to what he knew best. An opportunity that came at the hands of the last person he'd wanted to see. And while he'd expected the Commodore to be condescending, Norrington had instead been nothing but conciliatory, as he'd explained his offer.

****

_Earlier that day…_

"We will set you up here at the fort's forge. There is adequate space to accommodate you and whatever assistants you require. All you have to do is sign the papers." Norrington waved the packet in his hand. "Do we have an accord?"

Will Turner smiled slightly. "On one condition."

Norrington studied at man across the desk from him. His brief life as a sailor had hardened him; he sensed Turner was no longer the earnest young man he'd once known, impetuous, prone to rash actions. There was a deliberateness about him now, calculating, serious.

He suspected he had Sparrow to thank for that. A perinneal thorn in his side, the pirate had had the audacity, earlier that day, to sashay unannounced and uninvited into his office, make himself at home and proceed to make disparaging remarks about his marriage. And Elizabeth…

His thoughts were interrupted by Turner's demand.

"I want you to rebuild Brown's shop."

"That is a tall order, the smithy burned to the ground." Norrington frowned. He had expected some conditions to his offer, but not this. "It could take months. Months which we do not have. I am afraid that is out of the question."

"It was not a question." Turner stood abruptly. "Those are my terms, Commodore. I want my own shop, or there's no deal."

Norrington did a quick mental tally of the pros and cons of the demand.. On one hand, he did not see the need to accommodate the smith's request, there was a perfectly adequate forge at the fort. One the other hand, having his own shop would allow the swordsmith to hire as many assistants as needed to fill the ever burgeoning orders for the increased naval presence in port. Used to making rapid decisions under fire, the Commodore didn't hesitant.

"We have an accord, with one condition of my own."

"What's that?" Turner asked, brow furrowed in suspicion.

"That you start work immediately, here at the fort, until your shop can be rebuilt." He rose and stuck out his hand. "Does this meet with your satisfaction?"

Will gave the outstretched hand a wary look before shaking it. "Agreed."

"Excellent." Norrington smiled. "Now if you will just sign here…"

****

A knock on the door interrupted Will's recollections. Frowning, he silently crossed the room and listened, ear to the door. Another knock, more persistent, followed by a muffled curse. _He knew that voice._

Will opened the door. "Jack. What are you doing here?"

Jack Sparrow pushed past Will, bottle of rum and two mugs in hand. "Come to celebrate your new life."

Will followed him across the narrow room. "Look, Jack. It's late. It's been a long day, and I'm really not in the mood…"

"Nonsense!" Jack interrupted pouring a liberal splash of rum into the mugs. Handing one to Will, he raised the other. "I propose a toast. To Will Turner. Blacksmith turned pirate turned blacksmith." He flashed Will a golden grin before downing his drink in one healthy swallow.

"I didn't turn pirate," Will pointed out, setting down his mug without drinking.

Jack poured himself another drink and, taking tankard and bottle with him, plopped down on the bed, stretching out comfortably, back to the wall. "I beg to differ, though that is neither here or there. The fact of the matter is that you are here, and not there. That is, unless you changed your mind?"

Will quashed Jack's hopeful look. "No, I haven't. I won't be going with you when you sail."

"Pity."

Will stifled a yawn, and glared at Jack, lounging comfortably on the bed, not appearing to be in any hurry to go. "Jack, look. I am tired, I would like to go to bed."

Grinning widely, Jack patted the bed next to him. "Thought you'd never ask."

"Alone." Will folded his arms and jutted his chin towards the door. "Now, if you don't mind..."

"The fact of the matter is, I _do_ mind." Jack sat up, suddenly sober and serious. "Whatever it is you are searching for, Will Turner, it's not in Port Royal."

"How do you know?" Will asked, angrily. "What do you even know about what I want?"

"More than you think." Jack stood, setting the bottle on the table. "I know you need to make a difference, you are not one for idleness, nor enjoying pleasure just for the sake of it," he said, ticking each item off on his fingers. "But life is not all work and no play, Will."

Will snorted. "What do you know of an honest day's work?"

"Plenty. Enough to know that life is too short to be a slave for another."

"I'll have my own shop." Will said, defensively.

"Yet still answer to the Commodore." Jack pointed out. "And tell me, William. Are you willing to give up your freedom to be at the beck and call of the man who stole your girl?"

"Leave Elizabeth out of this," Will's voice had a dangerous edge. Jack was trying his patience.

"Ah, yes. Lovely Lizzie." Jack smile was predatory. "She was quite adamant this evening at assuring me her marriage was adequate. In _all_ ways."

"You _saw_ Elizabeth?"

"Briefly. Before her dashing husband threw me out."

Will frowned. "Did she…"

"Inquire about you?" Jack nodded. "Was a bit too eager for the Commodore's tastes. I would be careful, if I were you, in your dealings with _Mrs. Norrington_."

Will slumped down on the chair. He hadn't thought about the idea he might run into Elizabeth when he'd signed the papers earlier.

Jack put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes. Truth of the matter is, Jack, I miss the smith. Perhaps you don't understand, but for me it is more than hard work." Will said, with passion. "To see a lifeless piece of metal become reborn in my hands, transformed into something of beauty and strength, there is nothing quite like it."

His animation for his craft was suddenly superseded by a memory of Elizabeth, faced flushed in excitement, lips parted, eyes sparkling. He reluctantly pushed the image out of his mind. "It is what I do best, and as you said, I can make a difference," he finished, voice flat.

Jack raised an eyebrow but didn't argue the point. He raised his glass once more. "Then I will drink to your health and happiness. Until we meet again."

Will raised his untouched glass and clunked it to Jack's. "Fair winds and a following sea." He drank finally, then held out his hand. "Thank you, Jack."

Jack shook his hand solemnly. "Me offer still stands, if you change your mind."

Before Will could answer, Jack was gone, in a swirl of coattails.

For some reason he could not quite put a finger on, Jack's offer was reassuring. Will retired for the night and, for the first times in months, slept soundly, at peace with himself.

****


End file.
